


E.T

by Hormmm



Category: American Assassin, teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: F/M, I seen to have a trend-, Maybe - Freeform, Mitch is an alien, Post Nogitsune, Sheriff’s name is Noah. Sorry. I prefer John too but, Stiles Has Powers, havent decided yet - Freeform, heyyy I spelled it right this time lmao, idk what to tag, naming my stories after songs, smh yes I was listening to et by Katy Perry while writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 00:55:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18928033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hormmm/pseuds/Hormmm
Summary: Aliens? Shifters? Banshees? Kitsunes? What could go wrong?Apparently everything, after Stiles finds an alien that looks uncannily similar to him, he jumps at the chance to help him- only to end up in more trouble than usual. Clearly, he bit off more than he could chew.How the fuck is Stiles gonna survive this?





	E.T

 

Stiles Stilinski.

Son of Sheriff Noah Stilinski, high school student, the boy who runs with the wolves and avid believer in extraterrestrial life forms.

Yes. That’s right. Extraterrestrial life forms. Like, as in, aliens.

“Dad, LISTEN! There’s so much evidence pointing towards the possibility of extraterrestrial life forms and aliens! Check out these articles!”

The sheriff sighed tiredly as the young man shoved multiple newspaper clippings into his hands. “Stiles, listen, the only ‘extraterrestrial life form’ around here is you.”

Stiles scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Dad! Come on! My best friend is a werewolf, I got possessed by a demon, and you got kidnapped by a Darach! You’re seriously going to tell me you don’t believe in aliens?!”

“I won’t believe it till I see it.”

“Haven’t you ever seen ‘X-Files’?!” Stiles cried out in anguish.

“No, but I have seen ‘E.T.’”

“Oh my god.”

\- - -

The last thing Stiles expected while driving home from a pack meeting was seeing the night sky light up as if it were on fire, a loud crash soon following. Stiles froze, eyes widening.

 _What_ _the_ _hell?_

He hopped out of Roscoe, running blindly into the woods.

This was a _bad_ idea. He didn’t think this through at all. But than again- when has Stiles thought anything through?

He raced through the woods, tripping over tree roots, branches, rocks, and sometimes his own two feet as he ran.

The boy was extremely thankful that Derek was not around at the moment. He didn’t need to be ridiculed by the werewolf.

The young man slowed to a stop, nearly falling into a large crater that was definitely not there ten minutes ago.

Stiles walked around the crater, smoke billowing out from the hole in the ground.

He hesitated.

On one hand this could totally be aliens finally coming to Beacon Hills and interacting with humans thus proving Stiles right or this could be another supernatural creature that just wants to chomp his head off and rip his heart out.

Of course, he did the thing any reasonable human being would do, he slid down to the bottom of the crater.

He approached the ball of smoke, waving his hand in front of him, trying to push it out of the way. He blindly walked into the grey smoke. Holding his breath, his eyes watered. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Suddenly, he was tackled by- himself?

No, not himself. Just a man who looked uncannily similar to him. It was his face but with a more muscular body, longer hair and a scruff of a beard.

Stiles froze as he was pinned to the ground and penetrated by the mans steely gaze. “You fool!” The man hissed. “That thing is about to blow any minute and you just walk-“

_BOOM_

The man pressed his body against Stiles, shielding him from rogue shrapnel and projectiles.

Stiles breathed heavily, blushing as the mans muscular frame held him down.

The man sat up, straddling Stiles’ thighs.

He huffed, reaching around his back and tugging, pulling out a piece of metal that pierced his flesh and was now coated in...green blood?

Stiles gasped. “Are you really an alien?”

The supposed alien scowled. “Is that what you humans call us?”

Stiles sat up, facing the alien. His lips stretched into a wide grin. “What’s your name? What are you doing here? Why did your ship crash?”

The alien grimaced, looking at the remains that were once his ship. “My name is Me’tch, in your language I would be called Mitch. I’m here on a mission to capture a highly dangerous intergalactic criminal. He has come to earth. It’s my job to take him out. My ship crashed due to the gravitational force your atmosphere has. It’s due to the fact that we have not created proper technology to approach earth due to the hostility we have received before.”

Stiles’ eyes were wide as he stared at the alien. “Why do you have my face?”

Mitch tilted his head. “I shift to adapt and blend in. I just so happen to like your facial features and find them fitting for my mission. They never expect the young doe eyes ones.”

Stiles blinked. “Thanks...?”

Mitch stood up, brushing dirt off of his clothes.

“Woah.” Stiles mumbled.

His outfit consisted of what seemed to be a long, brown leather coat, a tight fitting grey shirt, a belt that looked nearly as heavy as a cops belt (filled to the brim with different tools) black pants and knee high brown leather boots.

The coat flowed in the wind, revealing what seemed to look like some teched out version of a Glock 23.

Mitch stared down at him expectantly. “Well, are you going to stay here and let the fumes get to you or will you be going home?”

Stiles scrambled to his feet, eyes wide. “Where will you stay?”

The intergalactic assassin rose a brow. “Somewhere.”

“I, Uh, what if you stay with me? My dads usually not home. He wouldn’t even notice you were there.”

The alien frowned. “You could be targeted for doing such a thing.”

Stiles shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

This sparked the aliens interest.

“Alright. I’ll stay with you, if you tell me what you mean by that.”

“Fair enough, will you tell me about space?”

Mitch stared into Stiles’ brown eyes, searching for any type of malice or ill intent. He found none.

“Very well. Let’s go.”

Stiles grinned. “Alright, let’s drive home in my car!”

A look of confusion marred the aliens face. “Car?”

“You’ll see.”

\- - -

Mitch indeed saw the car and couldn’t stop pressing buttons.

He jumped in his seat, nearly whipping out his gun as one button turned on the old radio, Katy Perry blasting through the speakers.

“Ugh! What is that!?” The alien screamed, covering his ears. “Some form of torture?”

Stiles lowered the incredibly loud radio and laughed. “It’s music.”

“You call that music?!”

“Shh. Just listen.” Stiles proceeded to scream some of the lyrics with gusto. “WANNA BE YOUR VICTIM, READY FOR ABDUCTION!”

“Oh my Zardof.” Mitch mumbled in horror.

“BOY, YOU’RE AN ALIEN, YOUR TOUCH SO FOREIGN! IT’S SUPERNATURAL EXTRATERRESTRIAL!”

“I hated every second of that.”

“Good. That’s for breaking the button that lowers the windows.”

Stiles pulled up into the driveway of his house. Parking the car, he snatched his keys.

Mitch exited the car along with Stiles. The human grinned, leading him to the front door.

Mitch remained vigilant, eyes scanning the area for any possible threats- hearing the human boy curse made his attention snap to the front door. A man stood in front of Stiles, arms crossed, a look of disappointment on his face.

“It’s 12:57.” The man sighed.

Mitch took a closer look at whom he assumed was the father of the human. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept for days. To be fair, Stiles had a similar look but made up for it with his energy.

The man finally noticed the alien now standing besides Stiles and narrowed his eyes. “Stiles who is this?”

“Uh, his name is Mitch....uh...Rapp. He’s a friend and-“ Stiles withered underneath the mans ‘I know you’re lying’ glare. “He’s an alien.”

The man took in a deep breath of air and stayed silent.

“Dad?”

“Come in and explain what exactly happened.”

Mitch rose a brow and shook his head.

“Yes, sir.”


End file.
